


Sink

by OzQueen



Series: babysitters100 [65]
Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: Father Figures, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 16:31:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6712597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/pseuds/OzQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Life is mostly swimming between islands, Charlie."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sink

**Author's Note:**

> The Charlie Thomas appreciation continues. I apologise for nothing!

* * *

 

Richard straightened up, his back muscles twinging in protest, his spine cracking. He leaned on the snow shovel and looked over the driveway, his breath misting out in front of him. The cold pinched at his skin — his cheeks, his ears, his nose. He sniffed and glanced across the street to the Kishi's yard.

Mary Anne, bundled up in a puffy pink coat, was still busy with Claudia and Kristy, only halfway through an enormous snowman.

Richard breathed a quick sigh and clambered through the freshly-packed snow to the driveway next door. He had only just begun to clear the snow from behind Elizabeth's car when she appeared on the front porch, still in her bathrobe, David Michael a chubby bundle in her arms.

"Go back inside, Elizabeth," he called to her, before she could voice protest. He smiled. "It's all right."

"You don't have to do that," she said. She hoisted David Michael in her arms.

"Go inside," he insisted.

Charlie squeezed around her, still pulling his coat on. "I'll help you, Mr. Spier," he said, jumping the porch steps to land in the snow. "Don't worry, Mom. It's too cold out here for David Michael."

Elizabeth hesitated for a second longer. "Come in when you're done," she called eventually.

Richard gave her a smile and she bounced David Michael gently on her hip and disappeared back into the house.

"We sure got a lot of snow," Charlie said. He held a snow shovel in his gloved hands, looking uncertain.

"We sure did," Richard agreed. "Why don't you start on this side, and I'll go this side. Just turn the snow to the edges. See?" He demonstrated, scooping the snow neatly to the edges of the driveway.

"I got it," Charlie said, nodding. He started scooping, the edge of his shovel scraping the driveway, a frown on his face as he concentrated on clearing neat lines behind the car.

After a few minutes, Charlie spoke up again, slightly breathless and red in the face. "I helped my dad shovel snow last year," he said.

"So I saw," Richard answered, remembering the sight of Patrick half-heartedly dragging his shovel through the snow, barely clearing a path wide enough for the car, while Charlie and Sam had slid and stumbled after him in matching blue knitted caps.

They shoveled snow in silence for a few minutes, white clouds of warm breath hanging in the air, Charlie's cheeks turning red with cold and exertion.

Richard had been debating whether or not it would be too unfair to ask Charlie a few subtle questions about how Elizabeth was coping, when Charlie spoke up softly.

"Mom said Dad's in California now."

Richard had heard this already; the truth being revealed through Elizabeth's broken sobs in his living room weeks earlier. He glanced sideways at Charlie and wondered how much he'd been told and how much he'd had to figure out on his own.

"He probably just did it 'cause he hates snow so much…" Charlie's breathlessness wasn't just due to the task of shoveling snow; Richard could hear the dangerous trembling of hope and heartache there too. He could hear the request for an answer, even if it was one as simple as _He probably just did it 'cause he hates snow so much._

Richard straightened up and glanced towards the house. He leaned on his shovel. "Charlie," he said hesitantly.

Charlie's ears were red. He glanced at Richard nervously.

There were a lot of things Richard wanted to say about Patrick Thomas. He hadn't said any of them to Elizabeth, though he thought she would have liked to hear somebody verbally dismantle her husband piece by piece. But as easy as it would be, he would never dream of saying anything against Patrick in front of her. And certainly not in front of Charlie. He looked at the little boy standing in front of him and wondered how Patrick could have possibly made the choice to leave him behind. 

Alma, he realized, would know what to say. She had always known what to say; she could somehow listen to someone even when they'd said nothing, and still come right back with what they wanted to hear. His next breath of cold air felt sharper, and ached in his chest. Her voice came to him so suddenly it was like a punch to the gut.

 _Sink or swim, sweetheart._  

"Uh..." Richard cleared his throat, suddenly lost for words.

"It's okay, Mr. Spier," Charlie said quietly. "I already know he's not coming back." His shovel scraped the driveway again as he scooped another load of snow, his arms trembling slightly with the weight of it.

Richard carved another line in the snow in front of him. He felt cold right down to his bones, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to go inside where it was warm and quiet but for the soft whisper of Mary Anne's colored pencils and the ticking clock.

"No," he said after a moment, "I don't think he's coming back either." One look at Charlie's face told him it was the first time someone had confirmed this for him. Richard glanced at the house again, but Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen.

"Are you familiar with the idiom sink or swim, Charlie?" he asked, leaning on his shovel again.

Charlie shook his head, keeping his head down and his focus on chipping clear space through the snow in front of him.

"Imagine if…" Richard thought for a moment. "Imagine if you went ice skating on a lake," he said. "And you skated over a patch of ice too thin to bear your weight. What would happen?"

"I'd fall in," Charlie said, obviously well-versed on such dangers.

Richard nodded, and motioned with his hands. "Imagine then that the ice all broke apart into islands and drifted away from you. The islands are things which keep you safe, or a reward or a special occasion. One island is your mom, and another island is Sam. Another island is a good grade at school, or a home run in baseball."

Charlie smiled at him.

"But," Richard clarified, "it takes effort to get there, see? A lot of effort. You have to swim to the islands. And sometimes, when you get there… sometimes you don't get to rest for very long before you have to get back in the water. Life is mostly swimming between islands, Charlie."

"I think I get it," Charlie said slowly.

"Sometimes," Richard added, "it's tempting to give up before you get to the next island. Sinking is always easier than swimming. Swimming gets tiring. Doesn't it?"

Charlie nodded.

"It's okay to tread water for a while," Richard said. "That doesn't mean you're giving up. You just have to remember there's always another island out there somewhere. But you won't find it if you choose to sink." He leaned on the handle of his shovel to look Charlie in the eye. "You're a swimmer," he assured him gently. "And so is your mom. And Sam, Kristy and David Michael, too. You're just between islands at the moment."

Charlie gave him a small smile and nodded.

The front door opened again, and Elizabeth stood there in jeans and an old sweatshirt. "Come inside," she called.

Charlie looked at the half-finished driveway. "We're almost done!" he said.

"Five minutes," Richard promised. "Put some coffee on, Edie." He weighed his shovel in his hands and looked at Charlie. "Do you think we can get it done in five minutes?"

Charlie heaved a load of snow across to the side of the driveway. "Yup," he said. "You're way faster at this than my dad, Mr. Spier." He squinted up at him with one eye closed against the morning sun. "I think you're a swimmer, too."

Richard gave a quiet laugh and dug his shovel into the snow again. "Well, my next island has hot coffee and dry shoes," he said. "Let's get there quickly."

 

* * *

 


End file.
